Of Cupids and Kings
by Wai-Jing Waraugh
Summary: Sequel to OfHolly&Hobgoblins. Sarah&Jareth don't have plans to spend ValentinesDay together, but unexpected events bring them together. What can they do, but make the best of it? And who will receive a Valentine that is more than they ever dared wish for?
1. Chapter 1

**Of Cupids and Kings  
A Valentine's Day _Labyrinth_ Story**

Sequel to the Christmas-themed "Of Holly and Hobgoblins".

A bit early, I know, but I didn't want it to drag too long after the actual holiday, like the xmas one did.

There should be fairly regular updates leading up to Valentine's Day – I originally planned on writing about 3 chapters, so there should end up being 5 at least! heh!

Currently rated K+ (just in case!)

Please enjoy! **~ W.J.**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

"You don't mind watching Toby tonight, do you?"

That was how it started. Ironically, just like the first time.

Although at least this time, her stepmother made it sound like she had a choice. Sarah tried to smooth the insincere crinkles out of her smile; the inherent actress in her took over. "No," she answered in her best tone of breezy assurance; it actually sounded convincing. "I'm happy to do it. We get along fine now, don't we?" She playfully jiggled the toddler on her hip. He smiled broadly and gurgled. _Good boy,_ she thought inwardly, _you're playing along just fine._

Irene still looked a little unconvinced. She wore a beautiful evening dress, fashionably cut in crisp lines, with her short hair perfectly coiffed and her make-up softening her natural sharp features to best advantage in the dimness of twilight. She had a look of sophisticated allure, Sarah thought to herself. Irene, despite her rather strict and sensible approach to daily life, nevertheless had a bit of latent frivolity in her. She liked clothes that were structured, tailored to look dramatic despite their simple design, and coordinated her jewellery and cosmetics impeccably with her chosen outfit; she was always irreproachably well-turned-out. There was a time when Sarah had resented the sight of her streamline pencil skirts and low-heeled pumps striding away from her out the door, leaving her saddled with her young charge for the entire evening. But those times were no more. Sarah had made peace with her little half-brother, and with the babysitting duties that were periodically thrust upon her. She had 'made her peace' – not, perhaps, the best term to describe the process – in a most extraordinary way.

But that was another story.

"You're sure you don't have any other plans for tonight?" Irene asked her for what must've been the fifth time over the last few days. Sarah grinned. Part of their argument last time had been that Irene hadn't bothered to ask her that question. She rather wished now that she'd stop asking it.

"No, I don't. Really, I don't." She wasn't acting any more. It was entirely true. But that didn't make it any easier to say. Every time she said it, she felt more like she was lying to herself. Telling herself that not having any plans tonight – this particular night – didn't bother her. And somehow, she wasn't quite a good enough actress to make herself believe it, regardless of the smiles and assurances she gave to her stepmother, seemingly with utter conviction.

She rather thought it was ironic. It should be the other way round – the teenager asking the parent if she could go out for a date on Valentine's Day.

Not that Irene and her father were going out on a date, per sé. Married people didn't really go out on dates, didn't need to. The wooing was done, no need to flutter anxiously over candle-lit tables, sidling and sighing, wondering how the other person felt; it was all sorted by then. Sarah's insides twisted slightly. She felt rather envious of such people having that finality, that comfortableness in each other's presence.

As if on cue, Sarah's father came downstairs just then, looking very gallant in a suit jacket and shirt – tie-less, but still quite dapper. A coat was draped over one arm; the other unconsciously wrapped around Irene's shoulders, half-embracing her in a way that was casual, yet at the same time both possessive and protective. "Alright," he said, "We should be out for no more than a few hours, you know which restaurant it is and the phone number is on the fridge. If you need anything, give us a call."

"We'll be fine, Dad." It was a scene they enacted every time her parents went out, and by now it was more a formality than any actual genuine concern. Sarah was a very responsible babysitter. Everything was always alright. Well, almost always. There were some things that a phone call just couldn't solve, not without wasting a significant part of her precious thirteen hours with futile explanations. But she had managed to handle that incident on her own and it had ended happily, after all.

"Bye, Toby," Irene patted her son's hair fondly, then put her hand on Sarah's shoulder in turn. "He's had a bath already and it's already nearly his bedtime, he had a busy day today running round the park so he shouldn't be too fussy, he should be happy to go right to sleep. Just reheat some of the food in the fridge for him in an hour or so – not too hot, mind – and your dinner is there too. Be careful if you use the stove, but you shouldn't need to, it'll be fine in the microwave. Call us if there are any problems."

She had already heard this soliloquy before; she could almost recite it from memory if she were asked to. "Yes, yes, I know. Go already, before they think you're a no-show and give your table away to someone else!" Irene smiled appreciatively, her father gave her a friendly little wave, and the two of them left. Sarah's watchful eye did not miss the commendable display of chivalry as her father held the door open for Irene to pass through before him. Then the door shut firmly behind them, and the two siblings were left in what suddenly seemed to be a very quiet, empty house.

Sarah smiled down at her little brother. "Alright, Tobs, it's just you and me tonight. Would you like to play in your playpen until dinner? You've got some nice teddies and a toy train and some lovely bright-coloured building blocks to keep you occupied for an hour. How about that, boy-o?" Toby merely looked up at her, listening attentively and tightly clutching his favourite teddy bear, Lancelot. Sarah had given it to him as a present last Christmas, and though he obviously adored it, taking it everywhere with him, it still didn't feel to her like it had been enough to repay him for the gift _he_ had given _her_.

Well, it was _partially_ from him. One other person wishing for it certainly hadn't hurt.

She took Toby upstairs and deposited him in the fenced-in play area that had been set up for him in her parents' room. She left him happily conversing with a clutch of soft toys in his own private language, and headed for her own room next door. As she plumbed herself down on her bed, resolutely turning on her bedside lamp and opening a book, her thoughts nevertheless strayed off the page, drawn irresistibly onto a path of thought that she had been conscientiously trying to avoid all day.

_Christmas._

That had been when the dream had come true – or so she had thought. She should've known that nothing the Goblin King gave her ever came without a catch.

Not that he had really done anything wrong – not this time. He had mellowed considerably, he didn't taunt and tease and tempt her any more. But he didn't seem to do much of anything else, either. It was true, she had seen him a few times since Boxing Day – always when she went for a walk in the park. Not every time she went, but sometimes, when there was no one else around, when even the breeze seemed to cease itself and the little babbling stream under the bridge seemed to quieten significantly, like a stage set just as the curtain had gone up, the audience waiting in hushed expectancy for the principle actor to take the scene. That was when suddenly, but not altogether unexpectedly - almost as if she had known exactly what cue it would occur on - she would see a reflection appear beside hers in the stream, or a hand rest itself on the bridge's railing beside her own. And he would greet her with what seemed to now be his customary greeting:

_"Hello, Sarah. I trust my presence does not intrude…?"_

It was spoken with his trademark self-assured attitude, yet there was a hint of a question in it. As though he were confirming something she had said, or something she had asked for. She never actually asked, not in as many words. But he was never intruding – really, how could he be when the only reason she went to the park these days was on the off-chance that she might see _him_? She had started to tell herself that she couldn't go there as often as she would really like to. As it was, he didn't appear every time she went there. Surely he had better things to do than answering to the summons of a teenager wandering in a park with a dog, when he had a whole kingdom to see to. Besides, her parents would get suspicious if she kept slipping away to the park all the time. They would start to think that she was meeting a boy. Which she wasn't, of course.

She was meeting a _goblin_. And she doubted that the fact that this goblin was, in fact, king of them all would make them any more predisposed to her chosen company.

For she had chosen him, it was true. She may not have wished for his gift with actual words herself, but she had undoubtedly wished it with something that, perhaps, wished more fervently and far more passionately than words alone could. And she had accepted the gift this time. Every time he appeared with those casual words which held a deeper, hidden question, she replied with an answer that was likewise deeper than her likewise casual tone seemed to imply:

_"No, you're not intruding, Jareth. I'm glad you came."_

And they would talk, quietly, almost hesitantly, in the hush of the afternoon, watching the brook hurtling onward beneath the bridge, making its own, far more plentiful, conversation beneath their feet. And that was about it, really. They talked. She wasn't sure what, exactly, she expected. Given past experience, she supposed she somehow expected him to challenge her to battles of wits, or prod and provoke her into a verbal sparring match, or brazenly try to sweep her off her feet. The last possibility was, perhaps, what made her wander hopefully down to the park at least two evenings a week. But it never quite degenerated into that. Or, rather, reached those heights. It was just civilized talk. Like normal people had. Well, perhaps not quite 'normal':

_"So how is Hoggle going? I haven't seen him in ages."_

_ "Oh, you mean the gate-keeper? He's as well as can be expected, I suppose."_

_ "You haven't punished him or done anything dreadful to him since I last saw him, have you?"_

_ "Such a question! Would I do that to one whom you consider to be a friend?" He had paused to scratch Merlin, who had sidled up beside him, behind his floppy ears. Sarah hadn't replied, instead waiting for him to answer his own query. "As far as I know, Hoglin is still living out his pathetic little life in peace, with his jewel collection and can of bug spray."_

_ "You _do_ get his name wrong on purpose, don't you?"_

_ "Am I that obvious? I do it quite well, don't you think? It is hard to invent so many names starting with 'H' that still sound a bit like 'Hoggle'. If I called him Horatio or Helga, now _that_ would be obvious."_

_ "Why bother with all that?"_

_ "You don't approve?"_

_ His directness had caught her unawares. She answered more truthfully than she had intended, worried that he would feel insulted: "It seems childish, getting on his nerves on purpose all the time like that."_

_ "Mayhap it is. Really, though, it's not much of an irritant. And it's by no means an exclusive form of torment - I do it to everyone. Sometimes, I must confess, it _is _a genuine mistake. Most diminutive goblins look the same from my vantage point – a cap, a head of shaggy hair from which protrudes a pair of feet and, in some instances, a long snout or a pair of horns. You walk about all day with them scurrying around your ankles, and after a while they all start to look the same."_

_ "I suppose you think that about human children too," she had added a little defensively, which a touch of human pride, then added thoughtfully: "I suppose people look even more all-the-same, without horns and tails to tell them apart with; especially when they're young." Toby, she had reflected, had looked almost identical to all the other babies when he had been in the hospital nursery._

_ "Oh, I wouldn't say that, not in every instance. Some humans do have distinguishing characteristics which far remove them from the mundane hordes of others." He had cupped her chin with a gloved hand as he had said it, seeming to be examining her features with that intense gaze of his, two pools of impossibly deep, mismatched blues. It had made something flutter madly in her chest, somewhere beneath the heart-shaped pendant that hung from a chain there; as though it marked the location of her own heart. Then he had drawn his hand away again, and leaned on the railing with a sigh. "As to my 'childish past times' – well, such trifling jovialities do rather help to break the boredom."_

_ "What, fancy-dress balls every week aren't enough for you?"_

_ He had smiled at that; a bittersweet smile that showed plenty of teeth, but not much actual mirth. "Being king isn't all a bed of roses, Sarah."_

'Being king'. She hadn't really given much thought to that. It was true that she had thought, especially with the overconfident swagger with which he strode around all the time, that a King of the Goblins could do whatever he liked all day. It was a childish point of view, she now realized. He probably had loads of duties and responsibilities to stress about all day long. Really, when she thought about it, she didn't know much about him, other than what paltry details her old favourite fairytale had told her. And being with him in real life - great though that was - wasn't exactly a fairytale. Sometimes she didn't know what to say to him, what to talk to him about. As a royal figure, he was quite intimidating. Oh, she wasn't scared of him any more, not really. But he was an almost exotic figure, so regal and other-worldly, able to do so many things, able to use magic. He wasn't ignorant of human customs, that much she had learned from talking to him – coming into contact with humans and visiting the Aboveground as often as he did, he had probably picked up a lot of things, gleaned a thorough understanding of human habits. Sometimes she felt small and silly next to this grown-up, imposing figure. After all, what was she in comparison – a fifteen-year-old schoolgirl who still kept a box of dress-up clothes and read children's stories? Even amongst her peers – other teenage girls her age who twittered over the pages of gossip magazines, with their bright-hued, long-tipped nails and risqué fashions, strutting down the street on the hip of their grown-up-looking boyfriends, whilst she sat in the park, talking to her dog – she often felt quite babyish in comparison.

What did someone like the King of the Goblins really see in her, anyway? She wasn't sure any more. Especially the way things were going now. If he was still trying to romance her, he wasn't exactly being obvious about it. And somehow, 'Jareth' and 'subtlety' didn't really seem to go together. She wished she could look sophisticated like Irene, or even perhaps have the whimsical, worldly charm of her bohemian-actress mother. She supposed that was her problem; at an age when most other girls at her school were starting to look and act like women, she still felt very much like a little girl. She had been somewhat dreading today. Whilst she had seen people at school exchanging valentines and covertly slipping cards into lockers, she had spent the day feeling very alone, wondering what _he_ felt towards her. She hadn't mentioned Valentine's the last time they had met, and he hadn't either. It seemed rather logical when she considered it – despite his knowledge of human customs and, presumably, holidays, Valentine's Day didn't exactly seem like a holiday goblins would celebrate, especially since they had only just celebrated Christmas for the first time last year. Still, she couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed, which in turn made her feel rather ungrateful. But after all, it was the only holiday of the year devoted purely to romance. Perhaps her expectations had been too high – wasn't it little more than a full-blown commercial fiasco, a ruse to sell scores of greeting cards and expensive chocolates and flower bouquets? – but still… she couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to receive a valentine, to spend a romantic evening with-

Was that a roll of thunder she had heard in the distance? She came back to reality with a start. Glancing at the clock on her bedside table, she saw that more than thirty minutes had passed, and she still hadn't read a single page of the open book before her. There was another ominous growl of thunder, seemingly overhead; not as distant as she had initially thought. She scrambled up off the bed, realizing she should go and check on Toby. When she went into the room, she saw that he was still in his playpen; she felt an irrational sense of relief wash over her to see him still there, despite the fact that the goblins had redeemed themselves in her eyes over the past few months. He was sitting up, Lancelot beside him, with a bright red building block crammed in his little mouth. He looked innocently up at her as she leaned over the side of the pen.

"Hey, Toby. You hungry? Ready for dinner?" She decided she should get it out of the way right now. You never knew, in this kind of whether there could sometimes be-

She had just lifted him out of the pen when, coinciding with a loud crack of thunder, the light fitting overhead suddenly dimmed, blinked back on, made a fizzling sound, then went out completely with a loud _pop_!, plunging them into total darkness. The suddenness of it made her cry out before she realized what was actually happening. Regaining her composure, she went to the light switch and flipped it off and on again, to no avail. The hall light was off too; glancing out the window, she saw that the whole street was pitch-black, even the streetlights. _The whole block must be out of power_, she realized.

In this type of weather, there could sometimes be black-outs.

She sighed, and jostled Toby comfortingly in her arms. He didn't seem scared, and he didn't cry; he just made a surprised, awed-sounding noise, a bit like a muffled whimper, and clutched his bear to himself. Sarah crossed with him over to the bed; she knew her dad kept a powerful torch under the mattress in case this sort of thing happened in the middle of the night.

"Well, looks like cold crackers for us tonight, Toby," she muttered to him, but more to herself, as she groped in the dark for the torch. Irene had left dinner for them both – mushed-up versions for Toby, normal portions for herself – to be reheated before eating, but with no power and both the microwave and electric stove out of action, they weren't exactly a palatable option any more. They would have to raid the larder for their dinner, she supposed-

"Oh, I'm sure we can do better than that."

She whirled and nearly lost her balance as a silky voice floated out of nowhere, striking her ear out of the eerie silence of the room. A strong hand caught her under her elbow, keeping her – and Toby – upright. Lightning flared outside; she caught a quick glimpse of a dark silhouette between her and the window panes that lit up with the momentary flash of light. Then as the peal of thunder followed it, the light stayed in the room. It emanated from a crystal ball that glowed softly, like a miniature full-moon, held by an outstretched hand in a black leather glove.

That was how it started. Just like the first time.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** And so it begins - again! :D_

_ This story has been giving me a bit of a hard time. I know how it begins – obviously – and I think I know how it will end, but I'm not sure how the middle should go. I mean, if you're stuck in a black-out with the Goblin King, what should happen? I've started writing something, but I'm not sure if I'm really happy with it, so I'm open to suggestion. If anyone knows something that is good to do during a black-out, just normal, fun things (and keep it clean – Toby is there too, remember) suggest away, if I get something better than what I've written, I may well use it._

_ Subsequently, our family never does anything in blackouts, except perhaps to actually sit around eating cold dry crackers, and waiting for the power to come back on. So I suppose as long and Jareth, Sarah and Toby don't just end up doing that, it should be a vast improvement on proceedings at our house. This story was based on one such incident. I suppose I only should have written about it if I could think of something exciting for them to do. Oops._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Hello, Sarah."

His hand released her elbow, but he remained close to where she stood in the middle of the room, holding Toby in her arms. For a moment, déjà vu washed over her. A situation so very like this, many months ago…

Ah, but a lot had changed since then… _Christmas_ had happened since then…

"W-what are _you_ doing here?" she managed to utter through her surprise.

He gave her a look that was a mixture of amusement and reproach, the two emotions flitting over his features, like the two mismatched shades of blue in his eyes. "Come, come," he chided her in his rich, sensuous voice, "is that any way to greet one on St. Valentine's Day?"

She didn't answer that, didn't know how to. It surprised her even more perhaps than the black-out or his sudden appearance had. _So he _does_ know what today is…_

"I trust my presence does not intrude…?"

She gladly grasped at the familiarity of this question. "N-not at all, Jareth, I'm just… surprised to see you, you came very suddenly-"

"Dramatic entrances are a particular skill of mine," he replied with a smirk. It hadn't escaped Sarah's notice, the way he could seem to bend space to his will, appearing instantaneously wherever it was that he felt he wanted to be. Usually when she saw him arrive, he would appear to step out of thin air. He raised the still-glowing crystal orb, looking about him with interest. "Rather dim in here, isn't it?"

"Yeah, um, there's been a power shortage-" She wondered if she could explain the concept to him. As it turned out, she didn't need to; as usual, he knew all about it.

"Oh, problem with _electricity,_ is it?" He pronounced the word easily, but as though its use was a novelty for him. "You humans are so quaint." He watched her, smiling indulgently down at her. There was a shade of patronization in his smile. "Crude, unreliable thing, electricity."

"It isn't really," she shot back rather hotly, becoming defensive, as she did whenever he criticized 'human' things. "Usually it works really well-"

"-except when it doesn't work at all," he finished for her. "Which wouldn't be a problem, except that you humans are utterly dependant on the stuff. Without it, you're like little children crying out in the dark, helpless and scared."

He watched her, seeming to enjoy her reaction to his words. She hoped the crystal in his hand didn't reveal the flush that she had felt suffuse her cheeks. She felt rather like she had lost a game she hadn't known she had been playing. _He heard you scream,_ she realized._ After all, he only comes when you call him; it must be what brought him. What did you scream for? You're not a little kid any more, the dark doesn't scare you at all. Even Toby didn't cry out, and he's just a little baby._

Toby, in fact, seemed to be enjoying this unexpected visit. He squirmed in her arms, trying to keep Jareth always in his sight, cooing at him and stretching out his little hands towards him. "Hewah, kuh Jaweh fwa," he greeted the goblin king in his own language.

"Hello there, little chap." In response, Jareth drew close and chucked the infant affectionately under the chin. "Long time, no see. I've rather missed our conversations. You have such a witty way with words. Yet another thing we have in common." Was it just her, or did he seem to be standing awfully close now? Sarah realized that she was holding her breath apprehensively as she watched him interact with Toby. He seemed to sense it, and looked askance at her. "I'm not going to take him away again, never fear. We were past all that now, I thought." Was it her imagination, or did his fingertips lightly graze her shoulder as he drew his hand away from ruffling Toby's hair? "I just thought the little tyke could use some nourishment. He seems a bit peckish, and since you now have a refrigerator full of inedible cold foods, I thought perhaps I could be of assistance."

"What, another pair of helping hands?" He grinned, acknowledging her joke. "What sort of 'assistance' can you be in this sort of thing? Cooking isn't exactly part of your 'kingly duties', is it?"

"You'd be surprised," he replied nonchalantly to her scepticism. "Unlike you lot, we don't need electricity to cook in the Underground. Unless I'm mistaken, your house has a chimney, which usually denotes the presence of a fireplace. Shall we go and check that it doesn't also run on electricity?"

He headed for the door; she trailed after him, realizing that if she didn't stay near him, she and Toby would be left in the dark; he held the only source of light currently working in the entire house. "Taking a bit of a liberty, aren't you," she pointed out as she followed him, "just barging into someone's house and taking over like this. This isn't your castle, you know."

He half-turned towards her; in the dim light, his face looked eerie, with its hard lines and angular features half-shrouded in heavy shadow. He didn't look out of place in the gloom; he seemed a natural inhabitant of the darkness. He was, after all, a goblin, she reminded herself. A dweller of the Underground probably liked this sort of environment better than a world illuminated by harsh light bulbs and fluorescent glow. "Would you rather be left alone in a dark house with a hungry, fussy baby?"

"N-no, I didn't say that…"

"Come along, then."

She tramped after him obediently, feeling more like a child than ever. She felt almost embarrassed that he had found her in this situation, that he had heard her scream, and that he seemed to feel it was his responsibility – or, perhaps, his burden – to have to take care of the two scared, hungry children who would be otherwise left alone in the dark, cold house. She remembered the last time something like this had happened; his words from back then seemed to still ring in her ears:

_"This is not a gift for an ordinary girl who takes care of a screaming baby."_

Toby murmured something nonsensical, peering up at her in the darkness. She jostled him comfortingly in her arms. _It's not your fault,_ she thought to the child, though she didn't dare voice her thoughts aloud with _him_ within earshot. _It's not your fault I'm taking care of you tonight, or that I baby-sit you from time to time. It's not really Irene's fault either; she has the right to go out and have a nice time, she is a grown-up after all, she can go out for coffee with friends, or go out with Dad for drinks and dinner and dancing if she wants to. I guess I _am_ just the girl who looks after the baby. And even if I didn't have to look after you, I'd probably still be just as dull and boring. It's probably quite true that I don't deserve that sort of gift._

She glanced once more at Jareth's silent back preceding her down the hallway. _And I think he realizes that now, too._

* * *

He waited for her at the bottom of the stairs and offered a hand to help her down the last few steps, which was rather gallant of him, she thought. She supposed he was afraid she would fall and hurt Toby. The touch of his hand, even through the warm, soft leather of his glove, sent a strange little thrill through her, though it was the briefest of touches; her heart flipped over and her knees went a little weak, so it was perhaps a good thing that he was there to help her. She told herself she was being silly over such a little thing as touching his hand, but it didn't make her feel any less afflicted. As she looked about, she realized there was more light down here; candles were studded about everywhere - on the hall table, on a window sill, in all sorts of nooks and crannies – all giving off a gentle light. It looked as though the Milky Way had been moved into their living room.

"Where did all these candles come from?" she asked him. "I'm sure we didn't have this many…"

He smiled as he spared them a glance, looking pleased with himself. "I thought they might come in handy. Quite atmospheric, aren't they?"

He motioned her into the living room with instructions to settle Toby and see about the fireplace whilst he himself went into the kitchen. She felt slightly wary of letting him go in there on his own – justifiably perhaps, when she remembered the effects of the last food he had offered her – but she did as she was told, seating Toby safely in his high chair, where he couldn't get at the numerous flames with curious little hands. He gazed about him, mesmerized, as though he had never seen anything like it before – which, she realized, he probably hadn't, as they rarely had blackouts, and never used candles otherwise. The candles did look nice, she thought to herself as she went to the fireplace and stood by it, looking around. The myriad tiny flames flickered slightly every now and then in some draft that had snuck into the house, making the light dance in mystic patterns on the walls, shadows moving almost trance-like over the room's surfaces. The familiar room was now shrouded in an air of mystery, as though goblins could be lurking within every shadow…

When Jareth entered the room, the firelight from the grate flickered over him in a rosy glow that shifted unpredictably, making him look as though patterns in his clothes had come to life and swam through the fabric. He was dressed more casually than usual, she realized now that she saw him properly in the light; possibly because they were indoors rather than out in the park like they usually were. He wore none of his usual opulent, fur-trimmed coats or dramatic floor-length capes; just a white shirt with plentiful cascades of ruffles dripping off it at the throat and wrists, and with a vest slung casually over it, embroidered with delicate red and gold threads in some sort of almost Celtic design which appeared to be full of leering little goblin faces that looked strangely alive in the fire's flickering light. This was coupled with his usual calf-length leather boots and pants which were almost close-fitting enough to be called leggings. He looked less-regal when he emerged from the kitchen; he carried in his arms, among other things, a bag of marshmallows, a bundle of steel skewers the family usually reserved for barbecues, a block of cooking chocolate, and a bunch of bananas.

"Ah, firelight," he murmured with self-satisfaction, as though the familiarity of the sight pleased him. "A reliable thing. It's lucky you still have a wood fire in this house."

"Actually, it runs on gas," she corrected him. "There's a jet which connects to a switch over there in the mantelpiece-"

The small amount of superiority she felt in actually knowing more than him about _something_ quickly dissipated; he waved aside her explanation as irrelevant. "At least it doesn't run on electricity, unlike everything else in this house. You have so many things in there – a microwave, a kettle, even the cooking stove – that are all useless now, save as bench-top ornaments."

He dumped his armload of provisions on the coffee table and drew it and two dining room chairs closer to the fireplace, stripping off his gloves in a business-like manner. It always fascinated Sarah to see his bare hands; she rarely saw them, and they were very white and delicately-formed, with slim, elegant fingers tipped with long nails. She supposed they were goblish hands, although they didn't look so different from human ones.

He began to sort through the food items purposefully. "It won't be a proper dinner," he explained as he did so, "but doubtless I can cobble something together that will tide you both over until the power comes back on." He looked up from making an incision in a peeled banana with a small paring knife to find Sarah staring at him. "Something amiss?"

She started and realized what she was doing. "N-no, it's just… strange to see you doing that." She smiled almost shyly, wondering not for the first time how they had gotten into this unlikely scenario. "I never imagined you'd be able to cook…"

"Cooking on a fire is a common practice in the Underground," he shrugged matter-of-factly as he broke up small pieces of chocolate. "In fact, it's the only type of cooking that _is_ done there. I may not cook much any more, but I did this sort of thing plenty of times in my youth. And since I deal so much with human children, I do know a bit about them; I know what kind of cuisine they prefer, and I know how to keep them entertained."

Sarah bit her lip dejectedly at his words. Was that what he was doing now – _'entertaining the children'?_

Jareth turned to smile at Toby, who was watching all this with the air of a presiding king himself, seated in his high chair as though on a throne and with an approving eye following all that transpired. "Wait until you try this, little chap," Jareth told him as he deftly stuffed the split fruit with the chocolate pieces and marshmallows. "You'll love it; you'll be hoping for more blackouts in future so that you'll have an excuse to do this again."

Having wrapped several identically prepared fruits in tin foil – which he handled with a dexterity that surprised Sarah, as had pretty much everything else about this evening's proceedings thus far – he carefully lowered the parcels in next to the glowing coals with a long pair of log tongs which had been conveniently hanging on a stand beside the grate. "Won't take long," he told them cheerily. "In the meantime, we can start to prepare something different." He took up the knife again and began to peel – of all things – a large, russet-coloured peach. After a moment, he looked up from his handiwork with a mischievous expression, as though he had been waiting for her to say something.

She was watching him warily. "Where did you get that?" she asked. "We don't have any peaches… I don't think they're even in season right now, they won't be for months…"

He chuckled, almost sinisterly, as though at his own private joke. "Another little something I brought with me. Contrary to the turn of the seasons, I have a plentiful supply all year round. They happen to be my favourite." At the words, he tossed the half-peeled fruit in the air and easily re-caught it; it had turned into a transparent crystal. Raising a smug eyebrow at the amazement writ upon her face, he turned it in his fingertips; it became a peach again, this time fully peeled. He instead started to slice it on a chopping board that he had thoughtfully brought with him from the kitchen – she was sure her parents would be unimpressed to find cut marks on the surface of their coffee table. He glanced at the foil parcels in the fire. "Those will be about ready to come out. You can cut this into chunks for me, and I'll fish them out." He laid down the knife and pushed the board towards her. She hesitated, uncertain now that she had been unexpectedly included into this culinary exercise; then she rather gingerly took up the knife and began to chop. Meanwhile, Jareth pulled the parcels out of the fire with the tongs in a practiced-looking motion. Unwrapping one of the fruits, he deposited it on the tray of Toby's high chair; Toby gripped it, melted chocolate and marshmallow oozing out between his fingers, and took a large, inelegant toddlerish bite out of it. His smile was one of great pleasure; he proceeded to jam the rest of it in his mouth, smearing warm banana and molten chocolate all over his face.

"Ha! There now," Jareth said proudly. "I said he'd like it! Now for our other dish-"

"Is this ok?" Sarah asked tentatively, carefully putting the knife down beside a mound of cubed peach pieces.

"Perfect," he said with approval. "This one won't take long either, and it will taste sensational." He began to thread the peach pieces onto a metal skewer.

They sat in near-silence for a few minutes whilst he worked, the only occasional noise being the crackling of the fire and the muffled sounds of Toby heartily enjoying his meal. She found herself sitting primly in her chair, almost afraid to move or look in his direction, suddenly feeling almost cripplingly self-conscious. Though the entire night's events had her bewildered, it was now beginning to sink in properly just what was happening.

Jareth was _here_. For the first time since that fateful evening so many months ago, he was here, _inside the house_. And he was _cooking_ for her and Toby.

If she had dared to imagine it, she would've dismissed it as impossible. Almost furtively, she stole a quick glance sideways. Mismatched blue eyes looked back at her. She turned away quickly, but he already seen her looking. She paused uncertainly, then looked back again. He was watching her steadily, his hand holding a loaded skewer over the fire, but with his eyes fixed on her. She wished his gaze weren't quite so steady; it made her feel shaky in comparison.

"I-I'll go get us some drinks," she said as a means to break the moment, rising from her chair. "Is apple juice ok with you?"

"Perfectly fine," he replied agreeably, as though nothing had happened. Perhaps it hadn't; perhaps the intense blue gaze she had felt upon her, his eyes seeming to glisten strangely in the gloom, had just been a trick of the firelight, a figment of her imagination. "Will you be able to see in the dark out there? Here, take this with you." She could've sworn the hand he extended over hers had been empty a moment ago; the next moment, something round and hard fell into her fingertips, glowing softly from within, turning her knuckles white. She gasped and nearly dropped it; his hand closed around hers, keeping it in her palm. It was a crystal orb.

"Make sure you don't linger too long out there," he instructed her. "This will be cooked soon, and it will taste best whilst still warm."

"Ok, I'll be right back." Carefully clutching her makeshift 'torch', almost terrified that she would drop it and break it, she made her way to the dark kitchen doorway, the crystal lighting her way. She had expected it to feel cold like glass, or uncomfortably warm against her skin like a burning light bulb, but it seemed to be somewhere directly in between, and neither, as though it had no temperature at all. Once she was in the next room, she didn't know where to put it without it rolling off the flat bench and smashing on the floor, so she carefully balanced it in the rim of a glass. Thus unburdened, she took the opportunity to take a deep breath, trying to attain some semblance of composure.

Why did she feel all jittery like this, just because he was here? She should be used to seeing him by now. She had faced him in his seemingly-cruel game back then, back when he had once intimidated and frightened her, and she had faced him with probably more bravery than she was right now. But they were past all that now, as he had said himself, and she shouldn't be scared of him any more; she had thought she wasn't any longer, but it seemed she'd been wrong. Really, 'scared' wasn't the right word for how she felt – unsettled, uncertain, timid perhaps, but in a different way. He was so unpredictable, so impenetrable; she had no idea what he was going to do or say, what he was thinking, how he would next manage to catch her off guard. And the whole time he had that almost annoyingly flippant, bemused little smile hovering around the corners of his mouth, eyes always watchful and full of silent laughter, as though he enjoyed seeing her become flustered by his mere presence.

She opened and closed the fridge quickly to keep the inside cool – the power outage stopped it from working properly, of course – and poured out three apples juices, two in tall glasses and one in a sippy cup for Toby; then, taking another deep breath in the privacy of the dark kitchen, she went back out to the living room. Toby was starting on his third banana, with a good portion of his food smeared all over his chubby cheeks to show just how much gusto he had been eating it with. Jareth looked up from the fireplace and grinned when he saw the crystal balanced atop the glass she set at his elbow. He picked it up, made a grandiose flourish with his hand, and it was gone just as suddenly as it had appeared.

"Here, try this." He passed her a skewer; he had thoughtfully wrapped the end of it in a napkin so she wouldn't burn her fingertips as she held it. Hesitantly, feeling his eyes watching her again and with memories of the last peach she had eaten lurking at the back of her mind, she took it and tentatively edged a cube of peach off the skewer with her lips. Her eyes widened.

"This is amazing!" she told him, and she meant it. The peach had been lightly cooked in the fire until it was tender, and at some point he had sprinkled it with brown sugar – she could see the open bag on the table nearby – so that the outside of the fruit was slightly scorched and covered with a syrupy glaze, giving it an almost caramel flavour.

At her words he positively beamed, displaying his tiny pointed canines, evidently proud of himself. "I told you it would be. Here, try it with cream - it makes it even more decadent." He proffered a small dish of it, which she recognized from the fridge, left from a pudding they had had one night when friends of her parents had come over to dinner. She carefully dipped the skewer's tip in the dish; he was quite right, the creaminess and richness added to the nectar-like sweetness made it even more dreamy.

He produced a skewer for himself and set about enjoying it. She continued to eat hers, trying to slide the peach pieces off as daintily as she could, making sure she didn't slurp any juice or drop globs of cream anywhere. _He is a king,_ she thought to herself. _He'll be used to noble manners at the dinner table. Assuming he doesn't eat with the goblin hordes, that is. I don't imagine they'd be a pretty sight at mealtimes. Doubtless he has noble lords and ladies to keep him company at feasts, and I'm sure they behave with sophistication. _She chanced another sidelong glance; she was curious as to how he ate. It was so unusual to think of the Goblin King doing something as simple as _eating_, foolish though that sounded; she couldn't imagine him doing anything that wasn't grandly staged or carefully posed…

He ate neatly, but perhaps not quite as elegantly as she had expected. He just ate the way other people ate, really; unselfconsciously, and as though he was thoroughly enjoying it. As he took another mouthful, a rivulet of juice flowed over his bottom lip and dripped towards his chin. He saw that she had seen it happen and, somewhat sheepishly, gave a throaty chuckle and dabbed at it with his fingertips; in doing so, he transferred a glob of cream from the skewer in his hand onto his cheek. He gave a careless, almost exasperated laugh and dabbed at it in turn. It made her laugh, too. It seemed such a _normal _thing to do. It was as though the laughter dispelled all the unspoken tension that had been in the room. She actually almost felt at ease; apparently, as well as being able to stride about the place like the corporeal embodiment of 'royal dignity' itself, he could also enjoy simple, 'peasant' things – like a dessert on a stick.

"Oh, there's still some there," she told him as she saw that he had lowered his hand, though there was still a spot of cream on his face.

"Is there?" He dabbed again, and missed it again.

"Yeah, it's right there-"

As she leaned forward to point, he moved as well, and her fingertip actually touched his cheek, which she hadn't intended. She drew back hastily; before she could, he caught her hand in his, and bringing it to his lips, he half-kissed it, half-lapped at the cream that had been transferred from his cheek to her fingers.

A shiver went straight through her – it went right down to her toes and made the roots of her hair tingle, her stomach seeming to somersault somewhere in between. She was too caught unawares to do anything but let him do it, and she didn't know how to react afterwards except with pure shock at the fact that he had done it. If any of the boys at her school had licked her hand, she would've found it revolting; but when she felt his lips, soft and warm and almost velvety, brushed ever so lightly against her fingertips, it pleased her in a way she never could've predicted and didn't really understand. He let go of her hand, licking his lips as though he had savoured the taste, looking rather like the cat that had gotten the- well, the cream. The light of the fire made the glimmer in his eyes shimmer and leap. Giving them an almost hungry look. She felt a warmth wash over her that didn't come from the fireplace; she felt as though she had turned red from head to toe in a ferocious blush. She didn't know where to look – she certainly couldn't look at him! – so she looked instead at the fire, wondering if she should invent some casual remark to make light of it, but her mind coming up with a resounding blank.

Something else broke the awkwardness of the moment for her. Somewhere, seemingly overhead, there was a vague hum; then the lights suddenly blinked back on, almost blinding after the semi-darkness they had sat in for almost an hour.

He gave the light fitting overhead an almost accusatory glance. "So, the oh-so-precious electricity is back," he observed with unconcealed disdain. "We are living in an age of light once again. Looks like my task here is done." He set down his empty skewer and got to his feet. She realized he was about to leave.

"Oh, you're going _now_?" For some inexplicable reason, that made a wave of disappointment wash over her. He was going to go just like that, having finished his 'task'… like a babysitter once the parents had come home…

"Thank you for a wonderful evening. It's been a pleasure, Lady Sarah, Master Toby." He gave them each a courtly bow, then took a step backward; was it the sudden brightness of the overhead light dazzling her eyes, or did he seem to be fading into the blank wall behind him?

"Do you really have to go?" There was a petulant note in her voice; she didn't realize it, but there was a matching look of pleading in her eyes. She almost couldn't see him now; he was little more than a vague technicolour shadow upon the wall, his voice, similarly wavering and faint, following him out of the room.

"Indeed. Time is short now. Such a pity that…"

He had disappeared into thin air, leaving the siblings alone again.

"Aveh Sa," Toby commented from his high chair, looking sombre despite the streaks of dark chocolate all over his face. "Soweh Jaweh go." Whatever it meant, he didn't sound too happy about it.

* * *

_Author's Note: So, that's what to do with a Goblin King in a black-out. I got the idea - or rather, the recipes - off the internet, since we don't have a fireplace and it's currently 40 degrees Celsius (or possibly hotter) here at the moment. I went with my original story plan, but thanks anyway for the suggestions, I really liked some of them. And to those who expressed fear for Sarah's age, being alone with a charming member of Goblin royalty in a dark house (well, alone except for little Toby) - on the one hand, be reassured, as I kept it all clean, family related fun; on the other, be worried - there is more to come. Cheers! **~ W.J.**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

As it turned out, time really _had_ been short. A few minutes after he disappeared, Irene and Robert came through the front door, looking slightly more bedraggled than when they had gone out it. Sarah was grateful, at least, that she had had time between her guest's departure and their arrival home to wash up the dishes, clean Toby up, and get things in order. She didn't really want to explain the skewers to her parents, or why there had been two glasses of juice on the table instead of just hers and Toby's sippy cup. According to her version of events, she had given Toby some bananas to eat, and she herself had scavenged a snack from the larder, and they had sat by the fire, where it was warm and bright, waiting for them to come home.

They commended her on acting responsibly near the fireplace, cautioned her thoroughly on what fire hazards there could've been – she was glad that when she had looked around, all the candles seemed to have disappeared – and gave her their own account of the evening. The restaurant they had gone to had been affected by the black-out, as had at least half the town; a report on the car radio had told them that a nearby power transformer had been damaged in the storm. They had left the restaurant straight away, thinking that they should get home, since they would've likely been cold and hungry – so clever of her to think to do that in the black-out! They really should get gas laid on in the kitchen in case this happened again – but they had been delayed by an accident that had occurred in an intersection where the traffic lights hadn't been working. They had spent most of their Valentine's Day evening sitting in the car, waiting for debris to be cleared from the road so that they could drive past. All in all, the evening had turned into one big, unexpected melodrama.

In more ways than one, Sarah thought to herself as she went upstairs, Irene having fixed her and Toby both a proper dinner, though neither of them had been all that hungry – Toby because he had already eaten three chocolate-and-marshmallow-stuffed bananas, Sarah because she had had too much to think about to have much of an appetite. The whole evening was replaying itself in her mind. The black-out hadn't felt like a whole hour's time; the hour had flown by almost too quickly. As she mounted the stairs, she looked at her own slim hand on the banister, her skin tingling at the memory. What had _that_ been – just a bit of fun on his part, another thing meant to fluster her? She sighed. If it was, then it sure had worked. She couldn't help but feel a bit resentful towards her parents for coming home so early. She was sure it was that interruption that had made _him_ leave, not just the power coming back on. Awkward though she had felt at the time, she couldn't help but wonder what would've happened next if they had been left to themselves after _that_ had happened…

She went into her room, feeling a slight sense of satisfaction when the light obediently clicked on when she flicked the switch. She went to sit at her dressing table, and reached for her hairbrush. She looked up at her reflection in the mirror, and dropped it again with a clatter.

"Hello again."

He was standing in her mirror, apparently leaning on the other side of it; his hands were resting on the mirror's frame, slim fingers poking out onto her side. Then he straightened and strode forward – straight _through_ the dressing table, walking through the wood grain as though he were wading in a thigh-high pool of water. The table was still undoubtedly solid – she was still leaning on it – but he passed straight through it without meeting any resistance, _rather like when he walked right _through_ me in the Escher room_, she remembered. He emerged on her side of it, much to her relief, and leant against it, perched on the edge of it, no more than a foot away from where she sat.

"You're back." She made it sound matter-of-fact, but a bit of her eagerness at seeing him again went into her voice unbidden. She had expected she wouldn't see him again for a few days at least, let alone again on the same night – _tonight_, of all nights.

"Well, there was something I wanted to discuss with you." His voice held none of its usual flippancy; it held a hardness that was somewhat akin to the tone he had used in the Escher room, though at least this time he didn't seem angry – at least she didn't think so. He was watching her through two very intensely-focused blue pupils; in the bright fluorescent light they shone almost harshly, like two bits of fiercely bright summer sky in his pale face, his slanting eyebrows drawn over them in seriousness. "Sarah, why didn't you ask me here for Valentine's Day? You know I can't come to see you unless you wish for me to come. I wanted you to, expected you to – but you didn't. Have you grown tired of me already?"

She stared at him in disbelief. Of all the things he could've said to her, this was the most unexpected. "Me– tired of _you_?!" She asked incredulously. "Why _would_ I be? And what do you mean, 'I didn't ask you'? You make it sound like I stood you up. Which I didn't. We never had any plans for tonight. _You_ never mentioned Valentine's Day, so I didn't either. I assumed you don't even celebrate it."

"Mayhap I usually don't. But I can make a point to celebrate it, if I have someone worth celebrating it with."

Had she heard that right? He was certainly looking at her; surely he couldn't mean anything else… "B-but… I thought _you_ were the one who was tired of _me_!"

"Why would you think _that_?" His blue eyes clouded over with confusion. "I fought so hard and so long to win you; do you think I would give you up so quickly? What could I possibly have done to make you think _that_? Did I say or do something to convey that impression?"

She looked at her hands in her lap so she wouldn't have to look at his earnest expression, a combination of concern and hurt churned together upon his features. It made her feel guiltier than she had felt for the past month. "You haven't done anything like that," she answered truthfully, trying to pick her words delicately. "But… you haven't done much of anything else either. I didn't think you seemed to enjoy being around me all that much. I mean, when I see you in the park, we stand around and talk, and that's all. I-I don't know what I expected, but… but I'm not too interesting to talk to, I never know what to say, never do anything interesting, don't know much about anything, really. I thought that perhaps you were bored with me and didn't really want to spend time with me, and I didn't want to force you to…"

"Oh, Sarah." He folded his arms and peered down at her, shaking his head reproachfully; there was something almost tragic in the gesture. Her heart plummeted down somewhere near her feet. "I see now," he said softly; his voice held none of its characteristic bravado or customary edge of superiority. She had grown so accustomed to the way that he normally spoke that hearing a lack of those things in his voice almost scared her. "I see now where I was wrong." She felt a lump rise in her throat. It sounded like he… like he was about to break up with her…

"I should have reassured you long before this; I didn't realize you thought that… as it turns out, I was actually being too careful. It's my own fault for undermining your expectations. I thought, given our rather… _unfortunate_ history, it would be in my best interest to act slowly and cautiously. I didn't realize that it came across as disinterest… I did it that way, I suppose, because I was afraid that I would send you running scared." He smiled at her then, a sad, remorseful little smile that was so shocking to see there, it rendered her frozen in her chair, listening in amazement. "I'm not very good at appearing to care, Sarah. Throughout my reign, I have become very good at intimidation and belittling others. The previous chapter of our story called on me to create fear; and I _was_ frightening. But we are on a different page now, the story is still being written by us, and I was uncertain as to how to act. So I proceeded cautiously, afraid that if I made any sudden movements, if I acted too quickly or conveyed my feelings too strongly, I would lose you again, and lose you for good. It was cowardice and pride that almost lost you to me after all; I guess I acted with too much 'kingly pride', instead of making certain that you knew how I felt."

He stopped; his apology made her draw a shuddery breath, and when she answered, her voice was rather thick. "No, no, it's not you, you've been great. Really, you have been. Last Christmas was really… a dream come true." They both smiled as they recollected. It really had been just that, in the very sense of the words. "B-but… I wouldn't blame you for becoming tired of me. I mean, you're the Goblin King, and I'm… just a schoolgirl. I never do anything interesting, there's nothing remarkable about me. I don't even act as grown-up as the other girls at my school." Now that she had started, all her pent-up fears seemed to be tumbling out in an almost unstoppable torrent of words. "I thought you'd want someone more special, more important, more talented or prettier or smarter than 're the Goblin King; you deserve someone way better than me."

"That's not true." She had been staring at the tabletop as she spoke; the vehemence of his words made her look back at him. "Do you think I would've done what I did, offered you all that I had to offer, gone to such great pains to try to best you in our foolish game, if I didn't mean to keep you once I had won you? Don't you remember how the story went?"

Without turning to look, without breaking his gaze, his hand went out and picked something up off the tabletop, where it had been kept in pride of place, propped up between a music box and a large snow globe; a little figurine of an otherworldly, regal character with a tiny crystal ball in its outstretched hand stood close by, looking remarkably like its larger counterpart who perched on the edge of that very same table. The object he picked up was one that they were both familiar with and which held a lot of significance, though it looked innocent enough – a small, relatively thin book with a bright red cover. A title was embossed into the leather binding – '_The Labyrinth'_.

She looked at it dangling from his black gloved fingers, and nodded slowly. "Yes, I remember…"

_"Once upon a time, in a kingdom far away, there lived  
a beautiful princess. Life wasn't easy for the young  
princess, for her wicked stepmother worked her like a  
slave. But what no one knew was that the King of the  
Goblins had fallen in love with the princess…"_

_"…the King of the Goblins had fallen in love with the princess…"_

"…but as you said, the story has changed, it's still being written. I thought, perhaps, that you had changed your mind, or realized that you had made a mistake… after all, I'm not much fun to spend time with. I'm just an ordinary, boring school girl…"

"Come now, have more faith in me. Would _I_ choose just an 'ordinary, boring school girl' as a consort for one such as myself?" A hint of his arrogance had returned; it actually made her smile. That sounded more like him. He stood and moved to stand behind her chair; to look at him directly, she had to tilt her head back and almost lean into him. She could feel his warmth close behind her. "You are so stunning, so thrilling just to be near; yet you don't realize it yourself. That's just one of your many charms. I wish I could make you see how truly amazing you are in my eyes."

In response, she just smiled scornful and turned away. "I used to think I was pretty special," she admitted. "Less than a year ago, I was so full of myself, so sure I was secretly a princess, or some undiscovered heroine. I put on a lot of grand airs, but I was never really anything special. I thought I was, but now I see that I was just a brat who invented dramas to keep myself entertained."

"What do you think _I_ am, then?" That managed to coax a smile out of her. He reached up and lightly fingered a lock of her hair, watching her reflection in the mirror before them; she watched him watching her, suppressing a shiver as his gloved fingertips lightly grazed her cheek. "You _are_ a princess to me, though you mayn't be an undiscovered heroine, not any longer – not since I discovered you. You may think that because I'm a goblin king, because you're a mortal girl, because we live in different realms, that we must be so very different… but we're not really. I put on many grand airs of my own, but just because I wear a regal affectation in my own throne room, it doesn't mean I have to wear it everywhere, all the time. I can enjoy the simple things in life as well. I thought I proved as much this evening."

She thought back. _This evening_… it _had_ been simple - a bit like when they used to roast marshmallows over the fire on frosty winter evenings back when she was a child, before Toby had arrived and they had turned off the fireplace in favour of the more toddler-friendly central heating. Tonight had been fun in a similar way perhaps, yet far more fun than anything she remembered from childhood.

"You love the simple things in life," he continued, "things like cobwebs hung with dew so that they sparkle in the sunlight; patterns in frost on a window pane on a cold winter's day; old fairytales about heroes and princesses, full of chivalry and grand deeds; walking to the park on a sunny day with a dog, a book, and a box of dress-up clothes. And there is nothing wrong with loving simple things like that – for they are not really such things of simpletons. In fact they are the best things, the things that should be best-cherished, the things that most people almost immediately forget as they reach adulthood, in favour of supposed 'grown-up', 'sophisticated' pastimes which amount to little more than painting faces heavily with garish colours and going out, more exposed than dressed, to swill drinks beneath headache-inducing strobe lights in some gathering place where all the men are base and vulgar, and the women even more so." His take on the nightclub scene made her smirk; he saw that he was winning ground, and continued, his trademark half-smile reflected encouragingly at her in the mirror. "I chose you for you. You need never doubt that."

"You chose me because I'm childish?" she asked, trying to remain despondent, yet feeling hope rise rapidly within her despite herself.

"Absolutely. I only hope that you can also tolerate childishness in turn." She turned in her seat to look at him properly. The same half-question had been in his voice, the same one he asked every time she saw him.

_"I trust my presence doesn't intrude…" _

'Intrude' upon what? Upon reality? Upon the mundane life she normally led? Or upon her time in the park, long lazy afternoons spent musing, daydreaming, enjoying her only means of escape from that reality? How could he _possibly_ be intruding, when he was so much a part of her dreams himself?

"You don't just love childish fairytales like me, Jareth; you _are_ a fairytale. Or a _goblin_tale, anyway. I couldn't find a boyfriend to better suit me than that."

He smiled at that, showing his teeth with a very genuine amount of pleasure. "Well," he purred down at her, "if 'fantasy boyfriend' I be, I'll just have to bring you into my fairytale. And about time, too. I spent many hours planning for today, and thanks to your near self-sabotage, all my preparations almost went to waste."

"Preparations?" She regarded him with a quizzical look. "Preparations for _what_?"

"Well, you're the one who didn't invite _me_," he pointed out. "I see no reason, after having to wait so long, why I should relent now and giv-"

"_Jareth_,"

It was one word, but she put all her best actress' skills into it; truth be told, she didn't have to act too hard to get her meaning across. If she had looked in the mirror at that moment, it would've told her that she looked more beautifully appealing than she could've known, with her large, doe-like hazel eyes raised pleadingly, her dark hair falling about her fair face in soft hanks, her smile holding both a sweet innocence and a great deal of very feminine guile upon two lips as delicate as rose petals. If his heart had been made of glass, it would've undoubtedly melted; before the full force of that vision of loveliness, seen not reflected within the mirror's gaze but directly in person, his resistances – feigned ones, it must be admitted – became intangible, no longer true obstacles; just as she had worn down the defenses of his Labyrinth before. His breath caught in his chest; for a moment, she saw his adoration of her plainly writ upon his face. Her own heart skittered somewhere beneath the heart-shaped pendant laying against her chest - she wondered that he didn't hear it pound. He crossed to stand between her and the bedroom window and gave her a gracious bow.

"Your wish is my command, mila-… _my love_." He corrected himself, using a term of endearment for her that he hadn't previously allowed himself to use, letting himself utter it now with particular enthusiasm. His hand extended towards her invitingly, waiting for her to take it. She looked at him longingly, yet gave her bedroom door a small, uncertain glance.

"Your family won't miss you for a little while, I promise. Now come, before the expectation does for us both."

She turned back to him, gave him a brilliant smile that warmed him more than any mere firelight could, and rose eagerly from her chair, clasping his hand. He gently rearranged their hold, twining her arm through his, just as he had done back then, at Christmas, on another snowy night…

He beamed conspiratively down at her. Whatever he wanted to show her, it seemed to be something exciting!

"Come," he said.

Together, arm in arm, they took a step across the carpet, towards the frost-laced panes of the bedroom window. They took a second step each; this one crunched on snow.

* * *

It startled her; she was lucky Jareth had her arm, as she almost overbalanced and fell upon the crisp white blanket at her feet. She could still see a snowy landscape before her as she had when they stood before the window, but there was no longer any glass between her and it. She turned and looked behind her. Her room was no longer there; only more snow and trees. She noticed as she turned that her clothes rustled loudly, uncharacteristically; looking down, she saw that they had changed. She now wore a dress with a large, circular skirt – _a ball-gown, _she realized, remembering the only other one she had worn; that had also been in his company…

This one was red instead of white, but it wasn't just a replica of the previous one in a different colour. It was even more sumptuous, if that were possible. It seemed to be made of layer upon layer of satin and velvet flounces which flared out from her waist, each layer edged with delicate white lace. There were swathes of rich white fur at the neckline, hem and cuffs, for which she was thankful, since they were out under a dark, wintry sky. The sleeves and bodice were adorned with gathers of scarlet satin, embroidered with a floral design and detailed with velvet ribbon. It made her feel rather like she was wearing a large red rose bud tipped with frost for a gown, with petals drooping over each other until they reached her feet, where she could feel some low-heeled boots that weren't her own encasing them up to the ankles. Her hand automatically went to her throat; the heart pendant – _his _heart pendant – was still there. Otherwise, her previous outfit of casual jeans and a jumper had been completely transformed.

"Do you like it?" Jareth asked, having watched her turn this way and that, taking it all in.

"I-it's wonderful! I've never seen anything more beautiful!" It left even her mother's most elaborate stage costumes for dead. She touched a velvet fold almost reverently.

"Neither have I." She drew her eyes away from the gorgeous gown and turned back to him. His outfit had changed, too – though the same shirt and vest remained, he now wore a burgundy satin cravat at his throat, and he had on over it all a frock coat with long pointed tails at the back, made of a similar-coloured velvet, edged here and there with white ribbon. She was happy to see that a familiar pair of cuff links, shaped like tiny silver owls with rhinestone eyes, adorned both his wrists. Something in his face – that same soft, yet almost hungry-looking gaze – told her that at any rate, _he_ certainly liked her dress. Though the way his eyes were riveted upon _her_ rather than the gown, he seemed to have been complimenting something else.

"You're just making empty flattery," she accused him, trying to make light of such extravagant praise.

"Unlike _some_ people, when I say something, I absolutely mean it." That made her smile ruefully at the memory… a memory from very long ago now, it seemed… so much had changed since then…

"How did we get out here?" she asked, looking around at the snow-covered landscape. The familiar little bridge was before them, the stream murmuring sedately underneath it. It was strange, seeing her favourite spot in the park at night time. It was still familiar, yet felt totally different; almost unreal. She turned again to look behind them. There were no footprints leading up to where they now stood; it was as though they had dropped on this spot out of the sky.

"I told you dramatic entrances were a skill of mine. I brought us here; it took no more than a single step-"

He took one, and to her amazement, vanished from her side, seemingly into thin air. A few seconds passed – enough time for her to worry about him – then a pair of gloved hands suddenly came from behind her and covered her eyes. It made her laugh; she tried half-heartedly to peel them away from her face, but they stayed firmly in place.

"Keep your eyes closed," she both heard and felt his lips say somewhere very close to her left earlobe. Resisting the urge to do otherwise, she obeyed; she felt one hand move away whilst the other remained, continuing to shield her gaze. She knew he was performing some other sort of magic. She wondered what she would see…

"Ok, now… open them!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"_Oh…_"

The crisp white snow at her feet had changed, replaced by a carpet of countless red roses, plush red petals rippling in a gentle breeze. The decorative stone pillars beside the bridge looked like rose trees; vines thick with blossoms wove up them, turning them into arbours of swaying tendrils trimmed in red. Swirling frost patterns clung delicately to bare tree branches like spider's webs woven of diamonds, glimmering in the light of crystal orbs which floated in midair, glowing like some mystic constellation. The sheer beauty of it made her catch her breath; she just looked at him in silent awe. It was all he needed; the surprise and delight upon her features was thanks enough. It made more pride swell in his heart than he had ever felt there before – and he usually had quite a lot. Of all the dreams he had made actual, this one was by far the prettiest. It made the normal so-called Valentine's Day 'extravagance' of a dozen long-stemmed roses look paltry in comparison.

He extended a hand over the field of scarlet; obediently, several blossoms drifted upwards, like large red bubbles drifting on an unseen breeze, and arranged themselves into a perfect circle. He gently plucked the garland from where it waited in midair, and set it tenderly upon her hair, the scarlet flowers glowing like great red stars against the glossy blackness of her tresses. Her smile held a hint of nostalgia. She remembered coming down here to the park of an afternoon, wearing her favourite moss-green 'Camelot' dress, and with an old moth-eaten wreath of silk flowers, salvaged from one of her mother's many stage costumes, worn upon her head like a diadem…

The childish imaginings of those days had become a reality, in a form that surpassed all expectation… it was more than she had managed to ever even dare to dream…

Wanting to reciprocate somehow, she stooped and plucked a single rose from among the countless ones before her. The flower came away easily in her hand; there were no thorns on the stems to prick her. Somewhat bashfully, she drew close to him and tucked it into his buttonhole. She was rewarded with a smile of gratitude that made her own heart stumble somewhere beneath her pendant. The scene still wasn't quite complete; he snapped his fingers, and a tinkling little tune began to drift out of nowhere, weaving its way through the clear night air. It was one they both knew well. It reminded them of other times; it was a song that had spanned their long, rather unconventional courtship. It was _their song_.

He raised a hand; hers met his. Her other rested upon his shoulder, whilst his alighted upon her waist. There was no hesitation any more, they acted almost as one; it just felt right, to take up a ballroom hold side by side, almost cheek to cheek. She felt like electricity was coursing through her veins; their arms formed the circuit, generating a current that made their skin tingle and empowered their hearts to beat faster than usual. Once again, they took a step in unison; it was followed by another, and another, in what constituted a smooth, gliding movement through the bed of roses, making petals fly as he deftly twirled her around, spun her away from him, then brought her back in towards him, coming together closer than they had been before. Their breath intermingled as they laughed together, thrilled by the freedom of their movement, by this sensation of drifting down a river of red petals; it felt like flying.

He led her, skimming and twirling about, in a whirling dance across the park, beside the stream, and over the bridge. It made her think of an old film she had watched once with her mother, in which Audrey Hepburn and Fred Astaire had danced around, beside, and finally _on _a stream in a park in Paris, at the end of the number stepping out onto an island-like punt that had drifted off into the distance with them dancing upon it. That was what she felt like; like she was drifting away on a fairytale romance, although hers was even better than anything the movies could create…

Almost as though he could read her thoughts, he guided her down the river bank, and stepped out _onto_ the water. She suddenly tensed and tried to halt, uncertain; the stream, although not a swift one, looked icy cold, reflecting the black sky above like some dark mirror set in the ground. His hand gently tugged on hers; he smiled down at her reassuringly. There was a wordless appeal in his eyes, a silent twinkle that promised that it would be alright, that asked her to only trust him…

_"Fear me, love me, do as I say, and I will be your slave…"_

She listened to it. Quashing her fears, she took a step off the bank and followed him out _onto_ the water.

She gasped at the strange sensation of dancing on the water's surface. It wasn't slippery, but it somehow couldn't be compared to dancing on any sort of solid ground; they skimmed over it, the surface shimmering slightly but never breaking, leaving faint ripples instead of footprints. It was so miraculous – not just walking, but _dancing_ on water – that she gave a peal of laughter that sounded almost delirious. He gave an unrestrained chuckle that matched hers, whirling her around a little faster, making her feel dizzier and giddier and more light-headed and happy than she had ever felt. They danced on and on, almost as if they intended to keep going all night, turning around and around on the shimmering black dance floor, enveloped in the perfume of roses, and in each other's arms.

"You didn't put anything in that peach this time, did you?" she asked, sounding slightly dazed as she looked up into two mismatched blue eyes, the rest of the world swirling vaguely beyond her field of vision as he twirled her around again.

"No, certainly not. Why do you ask?"

"Because I'm feeling giddy and slightly faint for some reason. Looks like I can't blame the peach this time, though I can still blame the person – or the _goblin_ – behind it."

He chuckled at that. "Well, then, maybe we should stop for a while."

Their spinning gradually slowed and they came to a stop, both slightly breathless. She no longer felt like her body was spinning too fast for her senses to keep up with, but her heart was still galloping. He led her across the water, her arm still through his; now that they had slowed down, she could almost feel the water flowing beneath the soles of her shoes, though the surface stayed flat. They strolled under the bridge, which had now the air of a fairy grotto, its walls hidden by hordes of roses and a cluster of glowing crystals, like great glass chandelier, hovering overhead. It was when he reached up to smooth his tie that she gasped sharply.

"What's wrong?"

He started forward in an instant, full of concern; she looked sheepish, flusteredly explaining her action. "Oh, nothing, it's just… I just remembered I left… s-something behind, back in my room, that I should've brought along with me…"

"If you want to stop and go home-"

"Oh, no!" she interrupted him, making them both grin at the fervency of her reply. "N-No, there's just something that I want to go get…"

He raised an eyebrow curiously, but didn't ask questions. "Not a problem, nothing could be simpler. Where abouts in the room is it?"

"O-On the dressing table," she replied, wondering what he planned to-

He seized a glowing crystal that floated nearby, and tossed it casually back up into the air. It hovered for a moment, frozen in motion, then it seemed to rapidly expand outward, becoming larger, flatter, no longer transparent. Something appeared within it, a picture of- no, it actually _was_ her bedroom, viewed through a perfectly circular portal. She looked in amazement at this round, glassless 'window', then at the familiar arrogant half-smile he wore whenever he showed off his magic and which was now on his face. She hesitantly reached a hand through the portal – slightly worried that at any time, her stepmother might come through the bedroom door and see her arm sticking out of the dressing table mirror – and plucked something up off the tabletop. Once she had withdrawn her arm from it, it closed, dwindling down to its original size and turning increasingly translucent until it became a crystal again. He waved it away distractedly to rejoin the clustered 'chandelier' above their heads.

"Wow," she managed to utter in a quiet, awe-tinged voice, "this thing is going to look perfectly ordinary after a display like that…" He seemed to be heedless of her words; his eyes were drawn to the item in her hand.

"Is… is _that_…" He seemed almost uncharacteristically timid, afraid to even suggest what he thought it was…

"Yeah, it's, um, something I got for you, in case I _did_ see you today… turns out it was lucky I got it… er, it's nothing special, but I thought, it… you might like it, and I wanted to get you some sort of valentine, so…" She nervously handed over a tiny red box tied with a bit of white ribbon; he took it from her almost reverently, mouth hanging slightly open in a way that wasn't very dignified. A few seconds of nervous anticipation passed, during which he untied the bow and carefully opened the lid, whilst Sarah watched closely. When he saw it, his eyes lit up with such a buoyant, undisguised joy – like the sun reaching its zenith in a blue summer sky – that she felt an excited flutter within her, and her lips split in a proud little smile. He drew off one of his gloves to better handle it and carefully lifted it up off its black satin lining, pinching it delicately between thumb and forefinger.

"It's a tie pin," she explained, trying to look modest at the immense reaction she had inadvertently managed to create. "I thought it might suit you…" It was a silver pin, its outwards-facing side adorned with a curling silver feather, its edges finely etched in the minutest detail. The box disappeared somewhere; he reached up and pinned it to his satin cravat.

"It's wonderful. Just perfect. I… I never expected… I hadn't…" broke off, merely shaking his head at her in disbelief. His beaming smile of pure pleasure told her what words couldn't.

"At least I was actually able to give it to you in person this time, and on the actual day." He laughed at that; the inarticulate shock and amazement eased away. He fingered the cufflinks he wore fondly, as well as this new addition.

"Thank you."

"I-it's nothing really," she demurred, almost as overwhelmed by his gratitude as he was by the gift.

"No, it's really just so _brilliant_. And will be a hard act to follow, but…" It seemed he regained some of his former assuredness; he brought his hands before him, flourishing them like a conjurer about to perform a trick, then drew them apart in midair, as though he were drawing a line with his fingertips. Something fairly long, straight and narrow indeed appeared between them.

"I… I thought that… that all this tonight was already my present," she faltered, looking at the item he offered her.

"Only a part of the total package; all these-" he gestured at the roses and floating crystals "-are mere trifles. As is this, really… but I thought you would look more-than-beautiful wearing it…"

It was a hair pin, and quite definitely the only one of its kind she had ever seen. It featured a decorative panel of silver wire designed like the tendrils of a trailing rose vine, complete with a large rosebud with what looked like it had real gems of intense ruby-red set in each petal. This design was studded by a silver pin, adorned at the tip with a few silver leaves, and hanging from it on a silver thread were a crystal, like a drop of melted snow or a minuscule crystal orb; and beneath that a tiny gold heart, matching the one hanging from the chain around her neck.

"It… it's just so… so _beautiful_…" Their roles were reversed; she groped for some words, words which didn't even begin to describe it. He gave her a smile that looked almost as ecstatic as she felt.

"That's just as well; it may almost do you justice, though it still doesn't even begin to compare. May I put it in your hair for you?"

"Yes, yes please…"

He took a step towards her and reached out with an ungloved hand. She felt the same little rush of electricity sweep from her head to her toes as he stood very, very close to her, his eyes gazing into hers as his fingers worked behind her head, sweeping her hair up in a loose twist and passing the pin through it to secure it in place. Wearing it up like that made her suddenly feel very grown-up and elegant; quite possibly, having him do it for her contributed to the feeling. He gave a slight nod of satisfaction.

"Truly beautiful…"

She heard and felt him breath the words out, though his eyes didn't even touch her hair; they never left her face. Although he had finished fixing her hair, his hand stayed at the nape of her neck, making little shivers flitter up and down her spine. "You may have to tell your parents that you bought it from a discount table at a department store, or some such excuse to explain its existence."

She smiled ruefully at that. "I don't think they'll believe me somehow. They'll be starting to get suspicious, with all these mysterious pieces of jewelry I keep getting. They'll think I've robbed a jewelry store or something." Her fingers curled, as was now her habit, around the gold heart around her neck. "I've almost run out of present ideas; there isn't much men's jewelry left for me to get you."

"Well," he purred at her, his voice sounding as silky as rose petals, "you'll just have to find something else to give me."

"Like what?" She began to get an inkling of just what he might mean as those blue eyes grew larger, drawing even closer to her.

"I'm sure I can think of something. Something far more precious than any mere jewels…"

"And what might that be?" She felt like she was being drawn inward, about to overbalance and plunge into one of those two pools of mismatched blue…

His hand still rested at the nape of her neck; it gently drew her forward, and at the same time he leaned in towards her, and their lips met.

None of her hours spent dreaming of countless romantic scenarios - full of princes on white steeds whisking her away to a fairytale ending, steeling a light touch of her lips as their only means of reward - could quite prepared her for her first real kiss. It wasn't like the kisses she saw other people her age doing at the mall, or stolen furtively in a deserted corner at school, away from the disapproving eyes of teachers; those were usually all moving lips and interlocking faces. This wasn't anything like that. Their lips merely touched and pressed together - demure by modern standards - yet the sensation went right through her, her stomach flipping over and her mind buzzing incoherently like static, and every inch of her skin tingly with electricity. He continued to support her head with one hand, the other arm curling around her waist. She was rather glad of it; she had completely forgotten her sense of balance, and might have swooned and fallen right over into the water if he hadn't taken that precaution. He kissed her very carefully, very softly, his lips firm, yet almost delicate against hers, like velvet. He drew slowly away; when she opened her eyes, she looked into those same two blues, now misted over, like a clear sky seen through frosted windows, yet so full of warmth; full of love - for _her_.

"That doesn't count as next year's present, does it?"

That made her laugh; the intensity of the moment faded, though he was still very close, and her senses still swam. His voice was slightly husky – like crushed velvet – and so was hers when she answered.

"It can be part of this year's present. I owe you I suppose; you gave me the hair pin, and all these roses, and a peach dessert, and I gave you one tiny little tie pin; this evens things up now, doesn't it?"

"It certainly does," he said, licking his lip like he had earlier that night, after the incident with the cream. "In fact, I think I've been over-compensated. I'll just have to give you something back in return."

And he leaned in for another kiss. She knew what was happening this time; she closed her eyes and leaned in too, meeting him half-way.

* * *

That interlude somehow inspired them to dance some more, with renewed energy. They whirled about upon the stream again until at last, too breathless and dizzy to continue, she leaned on his arm, purposefully making him overbalance, and they tumbled together, laughing wildly, onto the bank and into a deep bed of scarlet roses. As they fell into it, they sent a great cloud of red petals scattering briefly upwards, only to fall back down again upon their upturned faces. He was sprawled on the ground beside her, his suit rumpled and hair even more unkempt than usual, only his tie kept orderly by its new pin. His head was thrown back and he was laughing with such abandon, no longer making any attempts at emulating 'regal grandeur'. With a contented little smile, he rolled over towards her, drawing her a little closer to him. His arm was still around her, his shoulder cushioning her head; she could feel the cold metal of the pendant he always wore somewhere near her cheek, and his lips were just brushing her forehead. She laid beside him in the roses, just enjoying being near him and listening to him chuckling into her hair, his laughter lilting and loud in the rose-perfumed air. His voice was entwined with her own as she laughed along with him, for no more reason than that it was so wonderful to just be near each other.

"I'll have to take you home soon," he murmured after a while. "It's now almost midnight."

"Already?" She raised her head to better look at him. "Who says I have to be home by midnight?"

"Well, we both know the fairytale. No turning into pumpkins now." He laughed again; she felt his lips through her hair as he planted a kiss on the top of her head. "Seriously, though, I know better than to keep a respectable young lady like yourself out all night. Especially when you live in a house with a crying, fussy baby. You need your rest, your parents will ask questions if you appear too tired tomorrow morning."

"What, making sure I get my beauty sleep?" she asked, an impish light in her hazel eyes. He playfully tapped the tip of her nose with one long finger.

"_You_ would never need subscribe to 'beauty sleep'. No lack of slumber could ever make you look any less than simply _stunning_."

She happily basked in his words, breathing a small sigh. _Living in a house with a crying, fussy baby. _She'd forgotten all that for a little while, forgotten she was appointed babysitter to an occasionally-troublesome toddler, and that she had chores and homework to think about; she had forgotten all that, along the rest of the entire world. She had forgotten everything except that she was spending time with him, in a beautiful, dream-like setting, and she had never had so much fun or felt so pretty and happy and well-loved in her life.

"I wish tonight never had to end," she whispered almost sullenly, curling one hand around the lapel of his coat, clinging to it rather like a sulky child.

"I'm afraid it has to eventually. I have a kingdom to run, and you have school to attend and a life to live, and other dreams of your own to fulfill."

"But I like this one best." Her hand tightened on his collar, pulling him a little closer. Through the roses, she detected a whiff of his scent – it was a combination of something musky, like earth that had been upturned after the rain, along with some sort of spice that was exotic-smelling, both of which she associated with the Underground; and something else that was unique to him, and was of him, and couldn't be compared to anything else. Although if she had to guess, she would say it was most like peaches and cream.

He wove his fingers into her hair, a sign that he appreciated her words, and reciprocated. He heaved a sigh of his own. His kingdom seemed the very lowest pits of the doldrums without her in it. "Well, you can return to this dream whenever you wish. I can't make your entire life a living fairytale; you have your own, _human_ life to pursue, full of quaint things like electricity and plastic jewels – as well as a few real ones – and sheep dog puppies and screaming babies. Well, hopefully not screaming _too_ much, or _too_ often. That's your world, and you need to live in it. But I'll be there to bring the fairytale to the in-between moments. Life can't always be easy, its not always 'a walk in the park', but even when it's not, I can come to you, to make sure that when I'm there at least, it is a veritable – or literal – bed of roses." He raised a hand full of petals, and let them filter through his fingertips, showering them in what felt like red-velvet confetti. His use of puns made her chuckle, though she felt the sentiment behind the humour of his words. It was almost the same question as always, asked in the same mock-casual way.

"I'd like that," she said, "and in return, if you like, I can show you some of our 'quaint' human customs."

She tilted her head up so she could see his face, so that she could see all of his answer. She could see the humour still there in his mismatched eyes, but it was mixed with something far more serious, yet far greater and more joyous and wonderful, something that shined more brightly within those blue depths – there was love plainly visible there as he gazed back at her.

"It's a deal."

And he sealed it with a not-so-casual kiss.

* * *

It was morning. The light filtering through the curtains told her so. She stretched, keeping her eyes closed, wanting to stay in bed a while longer, just thinking it over, remembering all that had happened the night before. Up to and including the moment when he had left her in her bedroom, back in her original clothes, and kissed her gently one more time before melting through the glass of her bedroom window and disappearing from view, dissolving into the night sky with a vague sound of flapping wings. Leaving her with a promise that she would see him again soon. The possibility made her smile broadly, and somewhat wistfully; at last, she reluctantly sat up and opened her eyes. As she did, something fell out of her hair and landed on the bedspread before her. She scrutinized it closely. It was a single red rose petal.

She looked at her dressing table. There was no one standing within the mirror, to her disappointment, and the items on it were neatly arranged, as usual. Yet something wasn't quite in its rightful place; there was a gap between her music box and her snow globe, and the little red book that usually filled it was lying flat on the tabletop. Something was lying on top of it; an elaborate hair pin, adorned with a jeweled flower the same red as the scarlet book cover.

She ran a hand distractedly through her hair, then touched a finger to her lips, remembering, feeling them tingle at the mere memory of it…

Her lips stretched in another smile. She smiled, because she knew she was still dreaming. And so long as he was there and would come to her when she wished, come to her with more dreams of dancing and laughter and blue eyes filled with love for _her_, she would never have to truly wake up.

*** THE END ***

* * *

_**Author's note: **and there's another one put to rest. And actually in time for the holiday, as well. I was right when I guess it would be 3-5 chapters; right bang in between. Slight apologies for the sappiness of the last chapter, although it is dedicated to the people who wished, secretly or otherwise, that Sarah and Jareth had kissed in my Christmas fic. Some people have already asked for another one, but I have no idea when it would be. I have a vague idea for a Halloween story, but before then, I'll only write another one if I have an absolutely fabulous idea. In the meantime, I have several other fics I should continue on with, including another Labyrinth one, 'Don't Dream It's Over', which from early indications looks to be an epic. There will also be Laby-themed fan art trickling into my Deviantart gallery every so often, please feel free to check it out if you feel so inclined.  
_

_Anyway, hope you enjoyed this installment of the 'holidays' series, and Happy Valentine's!_

_Cheers, **~ Wai-Jing**_


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